Bed Bug Blood Stains On Pillow Novels & Stories

It was quite late at night, Eizlina was laying on her bed but she couldn't sleep. She had turned extremely restless. Tilting her head, she saw Orelia peacefully sleeping beside her, which made her sigh heavily, and then tightly fisting the duvet, she hurriedly got up and turned on the lights of the room. She hastily pushed the duvet away from her body and her eyes widened. Horror filled into her eyes. Deep and dark blood patches were clearly visible on her nightgown and on the bed.

I got up slowly trying o nurse my stomach ache and notice red stains all over the bedsheets. A good part of the beddings was full of blood and I didn’t even want to look at them. I didn’t want to be a girl anymore. My nightdress was also stained with dark red and no amount of washing was going to save the stained sheets. Dear God, I didn’t sign up for all this. I hurried to the bathroom and filled the sink with water and detergents. I f I appeared at the hallway with bedsheets and duvets next to the washing machine, it would look even worse. My step mama

Sleeping in a twenty-dollar bed reminded me of what Sebastien always said: that without him, I was nothing more than a speck of dust in the wind. He was right. I felt small, grimy, and utterly insignificant. But as I stared at the water stain on the ceiling that looked vaguely like a weeping eye, I realized one thing: at least dust is free to blow wherever it wants. The sheets smelled of industrial-grade bleach and a lingering dampness that made my skin crawl. The pillow was as thin as a ransom note, and the cover had a jagged tear where the yellowed foam peeked out like a rotted tooth.

There was nothing but a fine layer of dust. Rising to my feet, I noticed the bed was a little rumpled—the duvet was tucked under the pillows instead of over them. The stench burned my nose. Now it was concentrated. Something told me to look under the pillows. I slid my hand underneath it to feel for the edge of the duvet. I touched something warm and sticky. Horrified, I retracted my hand. It was covered in blood. I screamed bloody murder.

"I can see right through that lie, and even if you weren't in pain, they still must be dressed. Have you seen the bed sheets?" I frowned as he gestured back into the bedroom and when I went through, my eyes widened at the red stains on the once pure white sheets. There were horizontal strips of blood that correlated with where the whip landed on my back, the blood seeping through to the mattress which I saw when I pulled the sheets back. I reached down and ran my finger over the blood, realising that I was still bleeding because the stains on the bed weren't even dry yet. "I...oh God...”

He stopped in the corner a little longer to examine the empty chair, but again found nothing. When he turned to leave, he spotted a dark patch on the floor, just a feet away from the door. Kneeling, he set the candelabra on the floor and rubbed his fingers across the surface and lifted his hand to better see it. It didn't take long to recognize what the stain was, and he was suddenly gripped by a sickening feeling. Bloodstain.

The only things that I did were the following: I removed the bullet on my arm before I went to bed and I just put a bandage around my wound, that’s it I didn’t went to the bed last night feeling so tired and that I just want to really take a rest. And so, I shouldn’t really be that surprised anymore of the bloodstains on my bed because it is all my fault. The slight of my bed even reflected on the mirror and I can perfectly see the blood stains. Well, anyone would eventually think that I already had my first night with my husband however that is not the case, because my bed right now is totally bloody.

She nodded in agreement, but I saw that stubborn look in her eyes—the one she always had before she did something reckless. Now the bed was unmade, the window open just enough for the cold to slip in. The curtains stirred with the breeze and on the floor, almost hidden by the rug, was a small smear of dark red. Vampire blood. Father stepped inside, slow and deliberate, scanning every inch of the room and then his gaze caught on the smear of blood. He crouched beside it, his hand hovering just above the fibers. “Fresh,” he muttered. Robert spoke up instantly. “Could’ve been tracked in. We had a border fight a few days ago—”